Falcon, a wild man, the easiest going of the group, or it might be more accurate to say he was the one who didn’t let much upset him. He’d also be the first to tear someone’s throat out.

Cheyenne, a dangerous woman, and that’s what Molly liked best about her, since she seemed to be on the same side as Molly.

And Wyatt. As soon as she stepped in the kitchen, Wyatt said, “I want to see your arm and hear what Hawkins did to you. Now.”

Giving in, since she had little choice, she said, “I’ve got a dress with buttoned cuffs on the sleeves. I can push those sleeves up high enough. I feel ashamed that he hurt me, and my impulse is not to talk about it. Pretend it didn’t happen. But I will. I know this isn’t my fault. I’ll run up and change.”

She was back in a few moments, wearing her blue calico dress sprinkled with white flowers. She came into the room to find them all standing there, muttering to each other. No doubt planning to bury Mr. Hawkins—no, Hawkins, his mister days were over.

They all turned, four in a row, to face her when she came in.

Cheyenne with her arms crossed, angry on Molly’s behalf. Wyatt with his fists clenched, with only one person he wanted to punch. Falcon with both hands shoved in his front pockets. Looking mild mannered, a complete deception. Kevin, his lips moving silently, she hoped it was in prayer. This mess could use some prayer.

“It just happened this morning, and he’s never put his hands on me before,” Molly said. “I can tell you straight out, I was holding a heavy glass pitcher of water in my hands when he grabbed my arm, and I was fully prepared to smash him over the head with it if he didn’t let go.”

She’d left the buttons of her sleeve undone. She slowly rolled it up, revealing a bruise just above her elbow. Black in the exact shape of Hawkins’s fingers. The skin so swollen it was shiny. Four curved slits had broken the skin. They oozed clear liquid. No blood but they were ugly.

Cheyenne growled. Kevin gasped. Falcon’s eyes narrowed. Wyatt took two long strides to reach her and gently cradled her arm. His hands, so much bigger than Hawkins’s, so much stronger, and yet Wyatt had never touched her except with gentleness.

“It looks awful, doesn’t it?” She’d seen it while changing, and frankly, she’d been shocked.

“I’m going to kill him.” Wyatt slid one hand gently over the ugly bruise.

“Let’s see if we can hang him instead. I’d like the law to handle this.” Molly spoke lightly, hoping to calm Wyatt’s savage anger.